


A Touch of Destiny

by reinadefuego



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Community: femslashficlets, F/F, Femslash, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinadefuego/pseuds/reinadefuego
Summary: Irene knows she's dying, but something more important has come up: her fifty-eighth wedding anniversary.Written for challenge 072 - "forget" at femslashficlets.





	A Touch of Destiny

Emma Frost chuckled to herself as she walked down the aisle and found the blind woman sitting quietly out of the way. Of course she would come here. It was where they'd met after all. The cinema was expectedly quiet for an afternoon showing of an old silent black and white Lon Chaney Sr movie. Irene had taken her glasses off, revealing milky white eyes staring at a screen she couldn't see. Her hair was down, curled, and cut into a bob in typical old lady fashion.

"Hello, Emma."

She politely bowed her head in response but said nothing. Emma lifted the hem of her jacket and swept the pure white cotton blend up before she sat and crossed one leg over the other. "Raven doesn't know, does she?"

"Raven doesn't know a lot of things, else she'd go mad trying to fix them all," Irene responded, clasping her hands together. If her wife knew a millionth of the visions she'd seen over the years, the woman she loved so dearly would probably have given up on their relationship a long time ago.

Emma kept her tone calm and respectful. Sabretooth would undoubtedly be lurking in the shadows somewhere, protecting the old woman at her wife's behest. She reached to her left and placed a hand on top of Irene's, easing a telepathic connection into place rather than force it. Soft and wrinkled with age, the annals of history had passed through that hand.

"You were diagnosed with dementia two years ago, Mrs Adler."

" _Darkholme,_ not Adler," she corrected her. Legally at least, she hadn't officially taken her wife's name; in spirit however, she all but had. The Englishwoman was correct unfortunately, she had been diagnosed with dementia. Her memories had already begun to be affected. "I've seen more variations of my death, Miss Frost, than I care to admit. I know how I will die, can you say the same?"

"No, but I trust you do." The quip earned Emma an amused smile and a chuckle. "The medical bills—"

"It's dementia, not cancer, dear. I can fight it and make myself ill through a combination of drugs, or I can spend my dying days happy and in the presence of my family. Which would you choose? I'm also not Jean Grey. I can't ask a cosmic entity to fix me."

"The Institute will cover any financials." For all it was worth, Destiny was the grandmother mutantkind never knew it had. The woman had come from money, and as money beget money, she'd used her inheritance to set up a system of private foster homes for children with abilities. They were nonprofit and by the books and Emma could only imagine what it looked like having so many adolescent mutants in one house. Oh wait, she knew exactly what that looked like.

There was also the 'Adler Foundation.' Discreet charitable assistance for mutants who wished only to survive. If your heart and intentions were pure then the Foundation could help. She'd built two cheap apartment blocks in Mutant Town, financed a new building for the markets, assisted Dazzler to repair the underground performance hall and all without anyone knowing who was behind it.

Mutantkind thrived when left alone by humans, when it was allowed to grow and discover itself. Mutant Town itself had become a necessity once the riots began all those years ago and the people who were visibly different found themselves needing a safe place. Yes, certain mutants tried to be gatekeepers and reject others because they weren't 'mutant enough', but they quickly found themselves ignored by the masses and sometimes ostracised.

"I've had ten years to make sure everything is taken care of, Emma," Irene said, patting her hand gently as the movie finished. She reached for her cane, gripping it tight even as a slight tremor affected her hand. She'd also been diagnosed with Parkinson's, and there was a chance of Lou Gehrig's disease. According to one doctor, her loss of eyesight was due to her body's inability to handle her power, resulting in brain damage. The multiple diagnoses were also a result of the damage. She wasn't a Class Five unlike Grey and a rare few others, but not being host to the Phoenix Force didn't mean she wasn't a powerful mutant in her own right.

"Good evening, Miss Frost," Irene said, easing herself off the seat and shuffling sideways to get out of the row. "Watch out for Scott. The next few months will be rather unpleasant."

"Grand'mère," a girl shrieked, squealing and giggling as she ran straight at Irene and threw her arms around the woman's waist. Emma turned, watching in silent surprise as the child let go then span and blinked twice. A moment later, faint black stripes spread down her arms and legs.

"Aurelie, look how beautiful you are," Irene said as the seven year old took her free hand. "Ou est Mama?"

"I'm here . . . I came when you called," a tall woman said, lurking in the shadows by the door. That certainly wasn't Sabretooth much to Emma's surprise. "So how do you want to surprise her?"

Irene smiled from ear to ear, listening as Aurelie clutched her hand and yammered on about school and her ability and how Mama had shown her how to jump from the roof to the ground without injuring herself.

"How about a picnic?"

"You think Raven would go on a picnic for our anniversary?"

"It's quieter than a three hat restaurant."

 _Irene,_ Emma reached out telepathically as she walked up the aisle, _I could allow you to borrow the jet and have Logan fly you wherever you want._

"Thank you for the offer, dear, but I think a picnic will suffice," Irene responded aloud. All she had to do was contact their children, choose a location and then set Raven up. She was eighty five years old, dying a slow death, and had nine months to live. A picnic with her family sounded perfect.


End file.
